


A Bit of Play

by PolythenePutz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Boys Kissing, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-02 22:51:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13328091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PolythenePutz/pseuds/PolythenePutz
Summary: Pups love to play.Or: In which Sirius is a tease, Remus is a ball of lust, James knows all, and no one listens to Peter.





	A Bit of Play

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first (hopefully not last!) finished attempt at a full-length Wolfstar fic. Here's hoping it works, and that my attempts at writing British speech patterns don't sour UK-US relations (I am very American, and the way Brits talk is just too cool for me).
> 
> A gigantic thank you to my fantastic beta, licorneaulys (https://archiveofourown.org/users/licorneaulys/profile and on Tumblr at https://licorneaulys.tumblr.com/), without whom this story would be a lot less comprehensible and a lot more like an adjective-ridden mess. She's the best, and I am obsessed with her. 
> 
> None of the characters are mine; I just like to make them do fun stuff.

Remus Lupin, for furrier or worse, had always felt torn when it came to displays of anything canine.  
He politely declined games of frisbee or catch, took care to make any other noise than a howl (even that time he’d stubbed his toe twice in one day), and the chocolate he stashed was a distinctly human treat that split him from the canis taxonomy.  
But with a big black dog Animagus as his companion and fast-developing crush, it was simply inevitable that something would give.

Moony liked nothing better than to nip and shove and rollick with Padfoot. They’d relive the thrill as often as the full moons would allow, until they found themselves relishing the tangle of each other’s bodies, the dew of grass beneath them, in both wolf and human form. Despite his previous efforts, Remus found himself hoping more and more to coil his limbs with the other boy in puppy-like play.

Remus was not a terribly athletic person, though he enjoyed the odd Quidditch game and ran laps around the school’s track on chilled weekend mornings. He used to look on with a bemused detachment at the other boys roughhousing but never cared to take part. He would say he got quite enough of that rolling around with Padfoot at the full moon, thank you.

In fact, one of his favorite things about the Marauders was that, unlike nearly everyone else apprised of his lycanthropy who treated him either with derision or as if he were made of glass, they never handled him with kid gloves. This meant that, though Remus could often be found on the sidelines during James, Sirius, and Peter’s skirmishes, none of them were shy about tackling him when they caught him unawares or branding him temporarily with purple-red bruises.

And it meant that, when Remus found the electric tumble of bodies could be even better in human form, the wrestling channeling his near-full-moon restlessness while happily allowing him to excessively touch a certain excessively handsome friend, and that friend seemed just as excited over the new development, it went without protest and indeed much reaction save for his pleasurably rapid heartbeats. Though it did not go without notice that Remus only ever wrestled with Sirius, it went without comment.

The pair’s agreeable horseplay began in light teasing and grinning digs that evolved into full-on tussles. Limbs fell over limbs, grass stains soaked the knees of school uniforms, skin goosefleshed as it brushed against its sunbaked counterpart, and a fluttering ache would unfurl itself in Remus’ belly.

With a friendly ease and cutting banter the backdrop of their days, it was clear to even the least observant pupils that Remus and Sirius were best of friends. But a funny tension always seemed to rear up between them that made Remus’ smile tight as he looked at Sirius with nothing so friendly on his mind.

Remus would say the color that suffused his skin or the awkward lay of his trousers was simply the exertion. Hormones. The full moon doing things he just had no way of controlling. The burden of lycanthropy was not exactly something he would describe as convenient, but when it came to a good off-handed statement to clarify his and Sirius’ unique relationship for an inquisitive James (“ _It’s the moon, fucks with my body ’n all. You know how it is…_ ”), the wolf served as a neat scapegoat.

It wasn’t such a lie anyway. For, as much as he’d try to tamp it down, he’d sometimes be overwhelmed with a vague need he indeed could not seem to control, lump in his throat like he wanted to cry out but couldn’t, as if his sexual frustration were some odd onomatopoeia trying to escape.

And, somewhat sheepishly, his eyes would linger on Sirius’ backside whenever it graced his eyes’ scope, resting there just seconds longer than any compulsory sweep of his surroundings, before pulling his gaze off the other boy’s body, blushing and fidgeting slightly.

He tried to help it, tried to fight the urge to drink in the pureblood’s form whenever he was in the vicinity, but the boy was absolute eye candy. Sirius walked about the school with a singular sway of his hips, noble grace that seemed effortless though it was likely forced onto him before he’d taken his first steps until it must’ve been second-nature. Sirius was indeed a tease, for he was both oblivious to the effect he had on many in the school’s population and, Remus hoped, on Remus himself.

It would have been inexplicable, the way Sirius could carry off any old item of clothing so that even when he wore the tattered old jumper he’d stolen from Remus’ trunk, it practically begged for Remus to rip it right off him. Except that Remus was all too used to it. The way Sirius fit into a pair of muggle jeans, Remus observed, was typical enough, considering Sirius wore them intentionally a little too tight and always selected a variety with cotton-blended stretch to accommodate the light layer of muscle on his thighs and calves from gripping a Quidditch broom. What Remus didn’t quite understand was how Sirius managed to make his everyday school uniform look provocative, how the plain black trousers hugged the tiny jut of his hip bones and conformed to the round of his buttocks just so. Really, though, Remus was in no position to question the fortuitous clothing situation. A good look at his friend in Quidditch gear or his light summer clothes was almost better than sinking his teeth into a nice bar of Honeyduke’s Finest. And since Sirius did flirt with Remus rather often, harmless and to be expected considering the way he exuded sexuality in a careless and inconsequential manner, Remus figured, he allowed himself that indulgence.

Whether or not Remus liked boys or girls or both was a question he’d hoped to reserve for a later date at which he felt more confident in a determinate answer, or less disinclined to labels, but it was more than a sure thing that Remus liked Sirius.

Remus never believed he could say the same for Sirius himself. Didn’t know what to make of the boy, other than a handful of short-lived romances with both girls and boys and scattered stories of trysts in classrooms and cupboards. Though, those seemed to have stopped somewhere around mid-sixth year.

Yes, Sirius was equally comfortable with a fanny or a cock. Said so himself. Often. And loudly. But that was Sirius for you. Brazen. Flirtatious. And just as likely to mash his lips to Remus’ when the tension grew thick between them as balk and throw a cheeky “Well Moony! I didn’t know you cared!” batting his eyelashes to ease the rejection.

So Remus contented himself with late nights revising the map or doing more laughing than studying in the common room with Sirius after the other Gryffindors had retired to bed, surreptitious glances at Sirius’ bared chest and legs when he got up in the morning (Remus couldn’t decide whether it was good or bad luck on his part that Sirius slept only in underwear), and the faint mewls from behind Sirius’ heavy crimson bed hangings as he furtively brought himself off and Remus furtively tried not to listen.

But as months went by, Remus noticed the spike in pitch of Sirius’ voice when they talked alone; the urgent way Sirius would babble to Remus over a smoke about nothing in particular; and the pleading way Sirius would look at him in the early mornings, still hazy and soft at the edges from sleep, as if still working apart the lines between dream and reality-Remus and almost telling him something he never quite did.

Sure, it had always been James and Sirius whose laughing physical altercations turned to showy, grand-sweeping blitzkriegs of shoves and wands sparking low-grade hexes, and it was these two who would amuse themselves by flinging obnoxious romantic propositions across rows of students (“ _Give us a kiss, ya great shirt-lifter!_ ”)  
But it was Sirius and Remus who touched knees under a shared desk in Transfiguration. Who stood close when they leant over to peruse a book of prank-worthy charms, and brushed shoulders not-accidentally. Who huddled together under James’ cloak on rainy nights, taking drags of a joint out on the edge of the castle when they should have been in bed, droplets pattering around them as they passed the rolled paper between their fingers and breathed each other’s breaths.  
RemusandSirius, people would say quickly like rote, run together as if it were one word, and by seventh year it had become as ubiquitous as the JamesandSirius that reigned since first year.

******************************************************************************  
“Alright, lads?”

Sirius’ blithe tone offered more statement than question as he jogged to catch up to the group meandering toward a patch of trees just beginning to shed their coppery-yellow leaves. A lighthearted compulsory greeting, neither requiring nor wanting a genuine answer; for, when Peter opened his mouth to begin a diatribe on the unfortunate effects of a Befuddlement Draught gone awry in Potions class, Sirius’ attention had already fallen away from the rest, settling on Remus.

James’ lips stretched into an arch smile. He followed Sirius’ line of sight, and Remus’ hopeful glance when Sirius had bowed his head to inspect a hangnail. He’d known the significance of those looks since last school year, a night, when, under the influence of a couple warm ales and a shot of firewhiskey, he and Sirius had palavered over who at Hogwarts was most fit.

“—And you’re telling me, all those detentions are purely unintentional? You’re sat in that chair in her classroom nearly every week! More’n me, even. I’ve a right mind to think you’ve a thing for ol’ McGonagall.”

“Minnie would be lucky to have me, I’ll have you know. And I wouldn’t be sat there so often if you’d own up to the pranks more often. Throwing me under the bus like you do,” Sirius had sighed dramatically. “Anything to look good in front of Evans. Next you know, you’ll be prefect like Little Angel Lupin. Or worse, Head Boy. Never mind Moony’s the brains behind half our pranks anyhow.”

“Oh, come off it, you sod. You know you love the perks of having a prefect right in our midst. Sneaking into the prefect bath for a soak as much as you do. Such a bloody girl’s blouse,” James had snickered, shoving at Sirius’ arm.

“That’s right, Prongs,” Sirius had sniffed. “A girl’s blouse who could pull any bird right from under your nose, and best you in Quidditch while doing it. ‘Sides. How else d’you think I get this luxurious mane so supple and shining like a first-year’s eyes on Christmas?”

After a few highly personal inquiries about what Savannah Abernathe, Sirius’ girlfriend for a total of three weeks, looked like under her robes, followed by Sirius’ own quite dismissive response, James had prodded Sirius in the rib, looking over at him with a lopsided grin.

“What about Moony, eh? We all know I’m the fittest of us all, with my hot Quidditch bod,” James had paused there to preen until Sirius cuffed him on the backside of his messy black mop of hair, “but since I am woefully unavailable in pursuit of the lovely Evans, I guess Moony’s a good silver medal. Heh. Silver. Werewolf.”

Sirius had scoffed good-naturedly and swirled the contents of the mug of butterbeer he had begun.

“No, Seriously- ” James had broken off to giggle at his accidental pun, and Sirius had glared over at him with no real malice.

“Seriously, mate,” continued James. “I’ve seen the way you two’ve been when you’re together lately. You’ve been touching each other quite a lot, and the expression on your face when you look at him! I bet I don’t look half as lovesick when Lily’s around.”

“I hate to break it to you, Jamie, but you’re not exactly one for subtlety. Even the flobberworms we used in the Exploding Omelets know about your hard-on for Evans.”

James had made an indignant little squawk and then fixed Sirius with a look that said cut the bullshit.

Sirius had chuckled lightly and, looking down at his drink once more, admitted in what he’d hoped was an offhanded manner, “Yeah, well. Moony’s alright, isn't he? Smart, funny, easy on the eyes… ‘Sgot nice hands…”

James, having previously downed two highballs courtesy of the Leaky Cauldron, felt relaxed enough to concede that “yeah, Moony’s not a bad looking bloke. And he hasn’t a shite personality like most of the others you’ve dated. You’re trading up, honestly.”

“Oi, Prongsy, making the switch to our team now?” Sirius had winked lasciviously and James had punched Sirius in the arm.

“You know I’ve too much love for boobs and fannies to switch teams now.”

“And anyway,” Sirius had rejoined, “we’re not dating. Nothing like that.”

James had hummed non-committally. “For now,” he’d breezed, a beatific look of _I am Prongs and I know all_ plastered on his face. “I see the way he looks at you, too.”

Sirius had rolled his eyes, mouth quirking up despite himself. “What about you and Evans, then?” Sirius redirected. “She’s been addressing you as ‘toerag’ a lot less these days.”

“Evans’ll come around soon. She’s already starting to recognize my manly charm.” James’ face had split into a wide grin. “And a good thing of it, too. What a fantastic arse she’s got.”

“I’ll give you that,” Sirius had agreed, snickering. “Moony’s is nothing to sneeze at either,” he’d continued in a voice of utmost authority.

James snorted into his drink. “Yeah, yeah. I wish you two the best of luck, you bloody ponces.”

******************************************************************************  
Now, finding himself stood with his friends in a small clearing smattered with trees near the side of Gryffindor tower, James inched inconspicuously toward the direction of Hogwarts’ kitchens, as much planning to grant the canines their privacy as already salivating over what he imagined the house elves must be cooking up that evening.

Peter, for his part in the group’s exchange, rambled on for several more seconds (a drawn out whinging punctuated by irritable remarks of “McGonagall’s bloody Transfig assignment” that had resulted in a half-raven-half-writing desk pecking at his head before opening its still-feathered drawer and spilling an ink well over his robes) before perceiving the futility in sharing his gripes and lowering his raised pointer finger disappointedly.

“C’mon, Wormy. Let’s see what’s on the menu tonight. You can air your grievances into a piece of pumpkin pasty.”

Peter grinned wryly, glancing back at the pair who hadn’t acknowledged the other two Marauders for several minutes, and began to trail after James, now overtly walking away from Remus and Sirius.  
The recently ignored Marauders strolled back toward the castle, grumbling good-naturedly about certain friends’ gayness for each other being visible from space, stomachs rumbling in anticipation of hijacked treacle tarts.

Sirius managed to capture Remus’ gaze before his taller friend could quite unsubtly avert his eyes. The words that itched to slip from the brunet’s lips teetered ready on his tongue, to fall out in a crack of excitement wrapped in a genial expression.

The air was crisp in the late mid-September afternoon. The foliage surrounding the pair was all that took the bite from the bracing wind that rolled through the more open areas of the field, so while Remus and Sirius were content to bear the cold in their tree-lined alcove, the presence of other students dwindled rapidly.

Sirius’ breaths were keen huffs, in and out, even, like honey and spearmint, and seemed to carry Sirius’ exclamation with a satisfying snap.

“Oi, Moony!” Sirius said broadly. His voice hit Remus’ ear like a warm invitation amidst the cooling climate of the school, melting the iciness on the taper of Remus’ ears while igniting a spark low in his gut.

Remus raised a brow expectantly, a clever grin pulling at his lips.

“Back for more already, Black? You should already know I’m stronger than I look. Or don’t you remember last time, when I pinned your arm back so hard you almost cried to McGonagall for help?”

“T’was but a bit of luck, dear Moony. We both know I’ve the better track record. Seven to five, consult the ledger.”

“You keep a ledger of our wrestling matches?” Remus grinned incredulously.

“Oh, I always keep record of my conquests. Especially ones so fit.” He simpered exaggeratedly.

“Well,” Remus said simply, turning a faint rose color, clearing his suddenly dry throat before looking back at Sirius with an upward flick of his umber brow. At this, Sirius tossed back his ebony locks and assumed an _en garde_ position. Remus chuckled, a low and deliberate sound.

******************************************************************************  
Remus’ strength and speed no longer took Sirius by surprise, yet he found himself enjoying the lithe muscle and sure grip of the lycanthrope much more than he’d expected. These thoughts had ruminated in the idles of his mind for a length he didn’t care to keep track of, but whenever a particular pang at the smell of Remus’ hair or a hot twitch in his groin insisted upon him the weight of the situation, he’d dissipate them in mists of vague rationalizations.

Sirius would protest in conversations with himself, “We’re best mates! Why wouldn’t I like him?” and “Really, it’s just Moony!”

Yes, it’s Moony, his mind would supply. With his large, nimble hands and voice that turns the swottiest of comments into a lovely sensuous thing like melted chocolate, who’s like innuendo personified when he searches for the perfect word to mark his parchment, tongue flicking over the arc of his lip, mouth worrying the end of a quill.

What a traitor that involuntary part of his brain was.  
Though, it was nothing if not wholly accurate, for Sirius’ heart would squeeze at thoughts of brushing his fingertips through crops of thick ochre hair, kissing the lips he usually saw wrapped around a spell or a swear word.  
He wondered if Remus tasted the way he smelled, all scrubbed clean, spiced teas, and chocolate. He wondered if Remus swore when he came.

Sirius stroked his curiosity, his increasing desire by puffing hot whispers into Remus’ ear, placing a deliberate hand on Remus’ thigh, or leaning his body into compromising angles during rounds of mock-combat.  
From the way Remus’ skin heated and lips clamped over strangled whimpers, he hoped he was right in his belief that Remus liked the proximity as much as he did.

******************************************************************************  
On this particular evening, bathed in the dusky glow of day’s descent into night, alone as students fled toward the warmth housed behind the stone walls of Hogwarts castle, Remus and Sirius grasped at each other’s shoulders. They piled leg over leg, torso over torso in a tangle of bodies and friction. They panted short staccato breaths, their lips and cheeks ruddy from exertion.

Remus’ hands worked deftly but his mind whirred, as it always did when Sirius was this close to him, this alone.  
He’d planned day after day to take things further, make a concrete statement. But whenever an opportunity presented itself, he’d hang back with a pounding pulse and heart in his throat, letting the moment float by like a bit of flotsam, loose and evanescent.  
Well Sirius hasn’t said anything either, he thought with a twinge of annoyance at them both, contenting himself for the moment with the rhythm of their movements and pleasant weight of the other boy.  
  
Remus was just falling into the lull of their movements as they pushed back and forth. The scent of crushed grass mingled with fresh sweat. Even the pulse of blood crashing through his veins began to feel hypnotic in its tumult. It was a beguiling hex he could just will his body to control, so long as every motion, every sensation stayed in precarious equilibrium.

And then it happened.

Something odd and enthralling that stimulated Remus’ senses into hyper-sensitivity the likes of which he’d only ever felt while turning up a pinched snout to the crisp midnight air, trolling around the Shrieking Shack, Padfoot bounding on callused black paws close at his side.

That something was Sirius’ pert, round bottom. Pushing full and neat against Remus’ groin.

Sirius had seen the maneuver in a wrestling match on the muggle telly he’d picked up from a thrift shop after he’d taken his final steps as a son in the Black family household. It had looked so simple. Copying the blokes on screen, Sirius turned himself around from his and Remus’ face-to-face position, only slightly wobbly on his footing. Remus, who’d watched the sport with Sirius in his room at the Potters’ on more than one occasion, anticipated the dark-haired boy’s bid to escape his grip and pulled forward to neutralize the shift. Sirius whirled around awkwardly, losing balance and sticking out his bum in attempts to right himself. Remus’ body was in limbo, his move contingent on Sirius. The tawny-haired prefect felt his balance slipping. He planted a shoe flat on the grass, but the dew-soaked lawn yielded squishily underfoot and he struggled to anchor himself.

Before Remus could regain his foothold, before Sirius could snap his body back to an upright position, his bottom bumped into Remus’ lap.  
Sirius squirmed, and the flesh of his backside ground soundly into Remus, upward into his pelvis.  
Sirius froze on the spot.  
Remus sucked a sharp breath in through his nostrils.  
They were stock still, limbs leaden and hearts pounding.

Oh, and then all Remus could think of was taking Sirius roughly, passionately, marking him with kisses and sucks and bites. He blushed deep and felt the blood not occupying his face relocate lower down. He whimpered, soft and subtle, against the palate of his mouth, and noticed Sirius was pushing back against him with just a little too much force to have not been intentional.

******************************************************************************  
Sirius, in turn, had long since lost his battle with composure, body inflamed with the contact, mind in disarray. The werewolf’s belly was taut with slender muscles against Sirius, his lanky form solid and maddeningly warm.  
Today he smelled of Earl Grey and parchment and a heady musk that made Sirius’ eyes roll back, and he reeled with the overwhelming need to rub himself against the other boy, his skin so temptingly close with only their light day clothes between them. He ground himself lightly into Remus’ inviting body and bit his lip at the sensation.

******************************************************************************  
All at once, Sirius was moving closer, anxious and impossible. He’d turned himself round once more with ease now that Remus had forgotten the game, distracted by their proximity, his brain too close to imploding to do more than stand shakily and move along with Sirius’ body as if by instinct. Sirius’ torso pushed into Remus’ as he faced the lycanthrope. Sirius licked his lips, full and looking so soft Remus imagined he might die if he couldn’t kiss them soon, and caught the lust in Remus’ eyes.

As if Remus’ composure wasn’t fraying at the seams already, Sirius nosed the side of Remus’ face, breath sliding hotly over the shell of his ear. Sirius exhaled slowly and the humid air flowed over Remus’ exposed neck, making him shiver. A wicked smirk decorated Sirius’ face.  
He whispered low and rough into Remus’ sensitive ear, “Merlin, Moony, you’re so _hard_ ,” punctuating the final word with a soft, salacious groan drawn from between his wet, barely parted lips.

And that had been the final straw.

Remus’ heart hammered in his chest and he could practically feel steam pouring from his boiling blood. Light glinted off the bared canines in Sirius’ wide, rosy smile. Remus longed to bite the smirk from his face.

Sirius’ surveyed the rapid rise and fall of Remus’ chest through half-lidded eyes. The flared nostrils and rouge blossoming on his lips. There was something feral and needy there he’d never seen in the werewolf before. Sirius gulped, eyes darting down to his chest resting tight against Remus’. His wicked smirk faltered, and before Sirius could make another move, Remus propelled himself forward, driving their straining erections together as he covered Sirius’ mouth with this own. Sirius’ eyes widened, then fluttered closed, and he gave a delighted little grunt. The boys began kissing with abandon, tugging at each other’s hair and shoulders and clothes.

Sirius worked his thigh between Remus’ and shivered at the swelling he felt at the front of his trousers. Remus knew his desire was showing like a neon sign, and had the wherewithal to feel slightly embarrassed at how sharply his body had responded. An abashed red flush settled over the bridge of his nose. Oh, but when Remus shifted, a distinct lump pressed to his leg. Sirius breathed out a half-stifled groan at the friction. Remus was nearly undone.

Remus pulled back to nibble hotly at Sirius’ jaw and ear, then he drew the flat of his hand down Sirius’ spine, pausing at the base of his tailbone before dragging his hand lower, firm and hot, and squeezing a plump cheek clothed in agonizingly thin fabric. Sirius pressed pleasurably into the touch.

The shorter boy rolled his hips. He rocked his thigh back and forth in a driving tempo to which Remus’ body harmonized with pelvic upbeats. Up and down, Remus pushed to meet Sirius’ rocking.

They moved in synchronous thrusts. Seconds ticked by as their movements bloomed to a frenzy of scrabbling hands and hips. Each passing beat, each ragged inhalation, brought increased speed and more desperate rutting.

The scantily populated field, the setting sun, the very Earth around them, fell away.

The giant squid could’ve risen from the Black Lake, declared an oath to dine on nothing but greasy Slytherins, and eaten Severus Snape whole right next to them, and they’d have remained happily transfixed on one another, drowning themselves in pools of golden and grey irises. Nothing else seemed to exist besides Remus’ low mewling, Sirius’ breathy groans, and the hard press of their hips. Remus saw nothing but the boy with wide-blown pupils and flushed cheeks stood before him. Blood pounded behind Remus’ eyes and his mouth felt like cotton and yet he could have kept breathing Sirius in until every footfall around them seized to sound, every trace of light burned out of the sky.

Milliseconds slid into measureless beats, but it was as if this moment were both forever and not enough, the two losing all concept of time even as the sun slipped past and stretched out their shadows.

******************************************************************************  
At length, Sirius curled his fingers around Remus’ hip bones, hands settling perfectly over the contours of that enticing place usually hidden by too-large jumpers and multiple layers. The pads of his fingertips brushed the dip where Remus’ lower back flared gently into the curve of his bottom. Sirius’ thumbs fell puzzle-like into the delicate grooves where Remus’ sharp pelvis fed into a taut lower abdomen dusted with a thatch of fuzz leading downward in a trail, like an invitation. Sirius wrapped his fingers around Remus’ hips, pulling them smoothly forward to the straining need of his body, plunging exploratory fingers under Remus’ clothes and teasing out the little constraint to which Remus tenuously clung. Sirius delved completely into the folds of cotton and wool that housed the part of Remus he’d glimpsed in the showers, grasped and jerked in fantasies that ended in sticky sheets and muttered cleansing spells. The part of Remus that now nudged at his own eager cock, thick and heavy. He palmed Remus through his underwear, and it made him gasp.

Remus stooped slightly to rest his forehead on Sirius’ and sighed into the Animagus’ hair. The long lean curve of Remus’ neck as he leant down begged Sirius to kiss and lick and bite it. Sirius fiddled with the waistband of Remus’ trousers, the threadbare fabric on the pads of his fingertips, and slid his hand past the border separating Remus’ pants and naked skin. Sirius wrapped a hand around Remus, delicate drops of precome beading at his tip. The overwhelming sensation made Remus’ eyes water and he blinked away the moisture as his body gave itself up to the touch and he saw stars.

Remus’ head lolled back, the column of his throat exposed and pale, Adam’s apple undulating gently with his gulps and gasps, the planes of his face reflecting the oncoming dusk and shadows forming at the angular junctions of cheekbones and jaw. His eyes were golden in the evening’s glow. They were almost too much for Sirius to behold; the pureblood was both relieved and disappointed when Remus’ eyes cast cloudily to the air and screwed shut in sharp bliss. His lips were red and swollen from desire and attempts to bite back groans. His brown-wheat hair fell back and revealed the unencumbered skin of his cheeks, ears, and forehead, blushing prettily and casting channels of silvery scars in breathtaking contrast.

Sirius’ body ached with need, his mind a mosaic of half-thoughts and love and desire whirled together and eventually all he could hear in his mind was a steady chant of _Moony, fuck, god, fuck_. Sirius drank in the tense sinews of Remus’ body and the earthy glow surrounding him like a halo and wondered how he’d suppressed the desire to touch his friend this way all this time.

He beamed at the realization that he would no longer have to and chuckled into the arc of Remus’ neck before raking softly at the skin there, causing Remus to shudder and moan.

******************************************************************************  
Remus wound his fingers into Sirius’ hair, licked hot trails up his neck, bit at his lips and plundered his open mouth with this tongue. Couldn’t stop touching every part of Sirius. Every part of the boy who was touching him, unbelievably, as he’d touched him in dreams so like this. Sirius’ stormy irises were eclipsed by wide-blown pupils. His dark brow furrowed in pleasure as Remus, who only just managed to coordinate his limbs while Sirius continued to slide his hand up and down his length, gripped Sirius through his trousers, the outline of his hard cock in relief behind the fabric.

Remus plunged his fingers under Sirius’ clothes, clever digits searching. His hands brushed over bare, heated flesh. He growled a throaty _ah_. Sirius hadn’t been wearing pants underneath his clothes. Remus caught his own lip between his teeth and moaned around it as a fresh crackle of lust coursed through him. Sirius gasped, now equally unable to hide his excitement, and Remus pulled back to take in the view.

“F-fuck, Sirius,” he croaked, surprising himself with the hoarseness of his own voice, “wanted to see you like this for so long…”

If the spark of shocked hunger that flashed across Sirius’ slate eyes wasn’t enough to confirm how much he liked that, his erection pressing firm into Remus’ hip certainly was. Sirius was so hard that, as soon as Remus’ trembling hands undid the fastenings of Sirius’ trousers, he popped out, flushed and weeping.

Remus hesitated a moment, unsure of how to start and suddenly very aware of the granite colored eyes boring into him, making him blush and peer over at Sirius’ openly lustful and slightly bemused face from underneath heavy tan lashes.  
Teeth kneading his lower lip, he forged on, touching Sirius in a way he liked himself, gripping him evenly in his palm, thumbing his head and spreading the pearlescent drops of precome, the spongy flesh yielding under his fingers and growing thicker after only a few strokes. Remus’ eyes were desperate and large at the sight of Sirius coming undone, shaking and mouthing wordless curses.

When Sirius breathed out a long, half-cracked moan and continued stroking Remus with a renewed fervor, it took everything of Remus not to cry out and come on the spot.

Here was Sirius, the very person whose presence had been causing his tongue to knot up and his pulse to double-time for months if not years, bringing him off in a determined haste, groaning and sighing at Remus’ touches, just for him.

The breeze around them had chilled considerably, sifting through their hair and cooling their scalps, shooting shivers down their spines, but the air between them was thick and fevered. Sweat began to break out on Remus’ hairline and above Sirius’ lip. They were barely kissing now, open mouths groaning between lazy slides of lips, swallowing each other’s soft cries.

In their bid to keep every part of them connected, kissing and biting, with enough purchase to thrust and rub against one other, they’d backed against the wide trunk of a nearby oak. Remus’ back pressed solidly to it, the wool of his clothes catching on the uneven bark.

Sirius looked upon the other boy whose eyes had become lust-dark and intense, skin glowing crimson. Remus continued stroking, hand firm if not erratic, and this in combination with the sight of a lovely, flushed Remus, Sirius’ cock sliding in and out through his fingers, pushed Sirius over the edge. Sirius leant forward, sunk his teeth into Remus’ long white neck and groaned harsh and loud into the skin as he pulsed and froze and a warm wetness spattered over Remus’ fist and soaked into the fabric of Sirius’ trousers.

Sirius ground into him, squeezed him in his hand and Remus dizzily rested the side of his face on the tree’s rough wood. Remus huffed out a shallow breath, gave a strangled cry that went straight to Sirius’ cock despite having just spent himself, and bit into his lip as his face flooded with heat. Just as he felt a tingling warmth and a wash of pleasure begin to spread behind his brain and down to his toes, he looked up and his eyes locked onto hazel irises, wide and framed as they were in a beet-magenta face, mouth quirked at an odd angle in a mixture of amusement and horror.

Remus’ face burned scarlet as he came down from the heady sensation, feeling the cold moist of come on his skin and Sirius’ hand, which was still wrapped around him.

The other boy furrowed his dark brows as he caught on to Remus’ embarrassment and followed his stunned gaze to a window several stories above them, where the messy-haired boy had yet to move from his vantage point. Sirius turned his head and torso so that he was almost fully facing James, expression morphing from confused to cat-who-got-the-cream.

“Wanted a show, Jamie? You could have just asked,” Sirius called up, as Remus buried his face in his clean hand but grinned despite himself and shook with exhausted, slightly manic laughter.

James’ jaw worked silently, forming the vague shapes of several different vowels before setting itself around an expletive that named a particularly creative part of Merlin’s anatomy and caused Remus to raise his eyebrows in an impressed manner.

“Find a cupboard or something, will you! At least use a disillusionment charm! Bloody poofters!!”

Remus and Sirius wordlessly agreed that a charm, in fact, was just the thing, as Remus performed a Scourgify on both of them without breaking his gaze on the top floor. They replaced their askew clothing and Sirius linked his long fingers in Remus’, leading him by the hand and heart back to Gryffindor tower. Before they’d managed to make more than a few steps’ progress, Remus cast James an almost-apologetic smile.

******************************************************************************  
Once their figures grew small and disappeared out of sight, James shook his shoulders as if shrugging off the physical weight of that mental picture and puffed out a small “heh.”

He really was happy for the two mutts, despite their scarring the backs of his eyes with images of Moony’s eyes squeezed shut in bliss and Sirius’ mouth round in an O of orgasm. He’d have to replace those traumatic thoughts with lots more of Lily in her knickers, Lily in his favorite lacy bra the color of cinnamon Bertie Botts jellybeans…  
He smirked and began to retreat from the window.

“But don’t even think about using my invisibility cloak!” he amended loudly.


End file.
